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if he stayed any longer. Not that the icy disapproval was directed at him. Salisbury was sorry for Ian, because he did not look in proper condition for the blast of cold wrath that seemed about to strike him. However, kind of heart as Salisbury was, he had no intention of trying to interfere. He had learned better during his 40-odd years of life than to interpose himself between a husband and a wife. Ian had married the woman, let him deal with her. |
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To Ian's horror, however, Alinor did not say a word when she returned from seeing Salisbury out. She went directly to the window and sat down before her embroidery frame. If Ian had been less proud, he would have wept. He had said the most provocative thing he could think of. He had spoken as if Alinor's property were his, as if he intended to go to her castles alone and establish his authority over them. He had said it, moreover, in front of a stranger, deliberately, to enrage her further. He did not doubt that he had succeeded in making Alinor bitterly angry, but it seemed as if he had failed in his real purpose. She would not quarrel with him, any more than she would quarrel with a total stranger. |
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For three days this nightmare had continued, ever since he had awakened the morning after the melee. Ian stared sightlessly into the fire across the foot of the bed. Alinor was attentive, polite, kind, gentle in cleaning and dressing his maltreated bodyand as distant as the moon. If he spoke to her, she repliedpolitely. If he cried out, she was there at once with a cool cloth or a soporific drink. If he chose to jest, she curved her lips. She was no shrew, for she did not quarrel; she was no nag, for she did not scold; she was not Alinor, for her soul had withdrawn from him. |
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Yet no matter what he suffered, Ian knew he could not yield to her in this battle of wills. He could understand her reasons; he could not approve her act. He |
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